


Love and Other Problems

by ConceptaDecency



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: AU, Angst, Episode: s05e16 Doctor Bashir I Presume, M/M, Unrequited Love, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 23:43:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15784569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConceptaDecency/pseuds/ConceptaDecency
Summary: Garak and Doctor Bashir go on the run after the doctor's genetic status is revealed. Garak learns a few things about himself and about the doctor. Has he made a terrible mistake?





	Love and Other Problems

He was sure now. It had come to him with blinding clarity just this very moment, after he’d stormed into his tiny quarters to take his temper out on his pillow. There had been some doubt, a lot actually, when they’d first embarked on this insane venture, but after three weeks with not much more to do than think, read, and interact with the source of his confusion, Garak had finally reached the undeniable, disturbing conclusion.

He was in love with Julian Bashir.

It was obvious to him now that he’d been in love for quite some time, but Garak could be forgiven, he hoped, for confusing love with friendship. He really had not had much chance to learn what either felt like. After all, as an essential organ of the state, he had never had use for a friend in his adult life, much less a romantic relationship. From an early age he’d been strongly encouraged to quash any strong feelings or connections to other people. Really, it had been bad enough that he loved his mother. Tain would have preferred if he hadn’t.

Exile had changed his perspective on that. Friendship with the doctor had seemed preferable to stark, cold isolation on the station, especially after his implant had malfunctioned and he’d had to face life there without anything but the occasional glass of bad kanar to take the edge off. But, most people didn’t flirt quite so outrageously with their friends, did they? Well, maybe. Some people were just naturally flirtatious. Lieutenant Dax was an example of this. But were most people _attracted_ to their friends? Did they sometimes fantasise about how it would feel to run their hands all over their friends’ warm, smooth bodies, or how their friends’ skilled hands would feel doing the same, and more? Did they imagine what their friends looked like naked while they touched themselves, alone in their cold beds? Again, maybe. Lust was not the same as love, and Doctor Bashir was an objectively attractive man.

But Garak was quite sure that most people were not jealous enough of their friends’ time that they would break into their holosuite programs. They certainly didn’t sink to levels of near despair and lose their appetites when their friends had to cancel too many lunch appointments in a row, nor did their hearts sing when their friends unexpectedly dropped in to get their trousers hemmed or uniforms taken in. When reading, they were not constantly considering what their friends’ reactions and opinions would be to every little line, theme, and plot point. They didn’t have to make a conscious effort to stop themselves mentioning their friends too often when conversing with others.

And they definitely, definitely, didn’t give up everything they had, meagre as it might be, and heavily compromise their own safety to the extent that they may as well be signing their own death warrants, to accompany their friends on their escape from their governments after they’d been exposed as genetically modified Augments. Did they?

No, they certainly did not. It was love. Regrettable, foolish, stupid love. He knew, after thinking about it, that he would not have done the same for anyone else, not even dear Ziyal. And none of the doctor’s friends had made moves to do anything like this to help him. It was love, and not friendship. He punched the pillow again.

Garak should have stayed on the station. Without Federation protection, his life was at great risk. Especially with Dukat in power. He could have done everything he’d already done to help the doctor without leaving the station, could have arranged the purchase of the _Freebird_ , the ship they were now travelling on, and disabled the systems on the station long enough for the doctor to escape, and could have done it so that it would have been impossible to trace back to him. He would not even have been as lonely as he once might have; now there were Ziyal and Odo, and a few friendly relationships with some of the other Federation and civilian residents. Even the Bajorans more or less accepted him these days. But the idea of sending Bashir away had not even crossed his mind. Of course he was going with him. The doctor had needed help and protection, and Garak had stepped up to provide it without a second thought.

And he should have had a second thought. Because here he was, three weeks in space on a tiny ship, with no one else to talk to but the man who he’d just realised he was desperately (yes, desperately, there was enough proof for that) in love with but who gave no indication of loving him back. The Federation, his former protectors, were after him for aiding the escape of the dangerous Augment Julian Bashir, and who even knew about his old enemies, now that he was so vulnerable? Certainly most of them were already aware that he was no longer under Federation protection. He should have stayed on the station. He would have missed the doctor, of course, but he would have got over it eventually. What a fool he’d been to act so rashly. What was it he’d said to the doctor, not four weeks ago? ‘Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all.’ Would he ever learn? Likely not; given his current situation, he doubted he’d be alive long enough to put that lesson to the test again.

Yes, he was likely going to die. Soon, at the hands of some enemy or other. But finally, _finally_ , to make matters the absolute worst they could possibly be, he’d recently had another realisation: the man he was in love with, the brave, caring, brilliant, handsome man he’d given up everything for, was also annoying. Very, very annoying.

“Garak, are you okay?” The doctor’s voice through the door sounded concerned.

Garak balled up his fists and took a deep breath. The doctor had undergone a great deal of trauma recently, first enduringfour weeks in the Dominion prison camp and then having his career stripped from him and essentially being exiled; the doctor did not seem to think he would be allowed to live any semblance of a normal life in Federation territory even after he’d served his lengthy prison sentence. If there was anything Garak understood it was how hard exile was, and Garak was determined not to make it any harder on the doctor, no matter how annoying he was. But Garak was really being sorely tested.

“Yes, Doctor, I’m perfectly fine. I just needed some time alone.”

_Go away, Doctor. Go away go away go away._

“Oh. It’s just that you got up so suddenly and just left. I thought you might be ill.”

Garak _had_ got up and left the small lounge area very abruptly. It had been to prevent himself from delivering an extremely cutting remark after the doctor had, again, after being asked to stop several times that afternoon, begun drumming his fingers on the table as he’d read his book. Did the man not know how to sit quietly?

“Not at all. I just suddenly felt the need for my own company.”

“I see.”

Garak waited hopefully for the sound of the doctor’s retreating footsteps.

“Garak?”

Great mother Cardassia, how could a supposed superman be so bad at taking the hint? Garak tried to bite back his exasperation before answering.

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Are you...angry with me?” The last part of this question was delivered with the breathlessness of someone trying very hard to keep it together. Garak’s annoyance melted instantly, and so did his heart. This was another sign it was love. Anyone else would certainly have felt the rough edge of Garak’s tongue in a moment like this.

“Computer, open door,” he called, though he could, if he’d leaned forward a little, simply have opened the door manually from the bed. And he’d been given the slightly larger room. The door opened to reveal a very distressed-looking Julian Bashir, in a pair of smart trousers Garak had made for him years ago, regrettably paired with one of the hideous puffy wrap shirts of dubious quality that the doctor was inexplicably fond of. Just another way the doctor persisted in vexing Garak. Absolutely no respect for aesthetics. The man was fundamentally unable to dress himself. Just how could Garak have fallen in love with such a person?

As the doctor stood there, Garak noted, with a small amount of alarm, that the doctor’s trousers were still a bit loose on his already spare frame. The man really hadn’t been eating properly and hadn’t replaced any of the weight he’d lost in the prison camp. This was in contrast to Garak, who had been eating normally but not taking much exercise in the cramped vessel, and whose own trousers were beginning to feel a little tight around the waist. Garak patted the bed, inviting the doctor to sit.

“What makes you think I’m angry with you?” he asked, as the doctor entered and took a seat on the other end of the bunk.

“Oh god, you are, aren’t you? Garak, I’m sorry. Please tell me what I did wrong. I don’t know if I could stand it if you hated me too.” The doctor looked at his feet.

Garak sighed. This behaviour really was unlike that of the confident, brash Starfleet officer he had known on the station. Lately Doctor Bashir had been vacillating wildly between bold optimism and utter despair. At the low points he was convinced that all of his friends now hated him, and would not entertain Garak’s arguments that there was no evidence to support this. Quite the contrary. Hadn’t a blind eye from Kira and a laughably easy ‘surrender’ from Odo made it possible to get as far as they had before anyone else was aware the doctor had escaped his holding cell? Hadn’t Quark helped to procure the ship, not to mention essential supplies, including a full, modern medical kit? Bashir persisted in pointing out that none of his Federation friends or colleagues, not Worf, not Sisko, not Dax, not even O’Brien, had done anything to help him. Garak had countered that this might very well have been because they simply hadn’t had the chance to help; the escape had been swift. And who knew if a convenient slip of a finger or a delayed order in Ops had made the difference between escape and capture? Sometimes the doctor would concede that Garak was right, but more and more frequently he would not be convinced.

Garak recognised the feelings Bashir was dealing with, having gone through very similar at the beginning of his own exile, though by necessity he had not been nearly as expressive about them. Not that he’d had anyone to express them to. No, his outlet, two years on a constant high from the implant, had been much less healthy. Still, Bashir probably needed more help than Garak was qualified to give. Garak could only do his best. He placed his hands firmly on the man’s upper arms and turned the doctor to face him.

“Doctor,” he began carefully.

Bashir winced. Garak had insisted on calling him by his title, even though he was no longer licensed to practice medicine. What else was he going to call him? Mr Bashir? Julian? Well, maybe someday it would be nice to call him Julian...Garak snapped himself back. Now was not the time for idle sentimentality.

“Doctor,” he said again in as gentle a tone as he could muster, and waited until the doctor met his eyes. “I don’t hate you. I’m not angry with you. I don’t know what I could have done to make you think I don’t always mean exactly what I say,” this was said wryly, to coax a smile out of the doctor, and it worked. “But what I said was true. I simply needed some time to myself. We’ve been in close quarters for some time, and it’s natural that we might be scraping our scales up against each other a little.” He used a Kardasi expression, the mildest way he could think of to express vexation, and hoped the Universal Translator and the doctor’s quick mind would do the rest.

“Yes, of course, you’re right, Garak. I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone. I’m just...a bit of a mess right now.”

He certainly was. How pathetic that the Federation was terrified of _this_.

“Doctor, the moment has passed. You may stay if you like.”

“Thank you!” The relief in the doctor’s voice told Garak that he’d been carrying an awful dread of rejection. Bashir threw his arms around Garak and buried his face in the fabric of his suit.

Half a beat and Garak returned the embrace. The doctor was pleasantly warm in his arms. He rubbed tentative circles on the man’s back in a way he remembered his mother doing when he was small, and hoped it was as comforting to human adults as it was to Cardassian children. As Bashir’s hot breath steamed Garak’s shoulder through the cloth, Garak wondered just what he was supposed to do next.

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to write a funny story and produced this instead. It's a little angstier than my usual fare. Maybe I'm working too hard!
> 
> This story was partly inspired by another work in which Garak contemplates buying a ship and escaping with Julian and Ziyal after Julian's augmentations are revealed. It just seemed like a fun idea to explore. Unfortunately I can't remember the title or the author and I can't seem to find it, so if anyone knows which story I'm talking about I'd really appreciate it if you'd mention it in the comments!
> 
> ETA: Thanks, [ Essie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Essie)! the story I was thinking of was [ Half-Baked Plans And Finished Tea Cakes ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2402582) by DictionaryWrites. It's so good. Please go have a read of it.


End file.
